Mario Hernández, owner of El Califa de León: ‘They named my grill cook a chef, and he began thinking he was a rock star’

“Don’t fix what isn’t broken,” says Mario Hernández Alonso, 66, owner of El Califa de León, nearly a year after the taquería — and grill cook Arturo Rivera — were awarded a Michelin star. Rivera thought he’d won a set of tires when he first heard about the prize. Now he’s left the taquería.

“They dazzled him, bought him off, promised him the sun, the moon, and the stars. They called him a chef. A chef of what?” Hernández says bluntly. He adds that he respects the decision, but doesn’t understand why Rivera was the one to don the chef’s jacket and receive the recognition.

El Califa de León‘s first big boost came in late 1993. On November 28, Luis Donaldo Colosio was chosen to run for president as the candidate of the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI). The next day, journalist Gabriel Parra reported the news in Ovaciones and concluded the piece with a story in which he described meeting the politician eating two steak tacos and two rib tacos on the sidewalk in front of the taquería back in the 1980s.

El Califa de León was already popular by then — making in five minutes what many high-end restaurants earned in a month, according to Parra — but on November 29, after that mention, its fame reached a new peak.

More than 30 years later, in May, the taquería received another boost —this one sending it to the stars. When it came back down to earth, it brought one with it: a Michelin star. The award changed the dynamics of the surrounding area. The restaurant next door added a few tables, so customers could sit and eat. Street vendors popped up outside selling official merchandise. Logistics were put in place to manage the line so it wouldn’t block foot traffic. Now it’s a favorite stop for celebrities like Formula 1 driver Valtteri Bottas and U.S. boxer Rolando Romero. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the taquería itself.

In 2024, Hernández said he was surprised to become the first taquería in Mexico to receive recognition from the prestigious guide. At the time, he said he wanted to speak to the Michelin team to understand why them, given that the recipe was nothing more than coarse salt and lime. Later, he learned that kind of information is kept secret.

“The representative told me, ‘This isn’t about a recipe, we can’t share how or why you earned the star, because that would be giving away the formula,’” he recalls.

But that explanation didn’t sit well with him when it came to Rivera. “If the man had gone to culinary school, if he had a chef’s degree, I’d take my hat off to him. But it all happened just because he was born into the business,” says Hernández.

The secret

The cut of the meat is El Califa de León‘s best-kept secret. “It might be the only secret we have,” says Hernández, using one of his hands to illustrate. “If you bite this way,” he says, holding his right palm upright with fingers pointing to the sky, “you tear the meat.” He mimics biting down on his index and middle fingers. “But if you do it like this,” he continues, now holding his fingers horizontally, “you bite deeper into the fibers, and it makes the meat more tender.” He repeats the gesture, and the fingers part effortlessly. “Ninety-nine percent of people don’t know how to cut it. My father worked with meat for over 60 years and found the perfect cut.”

He admits he guards this information closely. When the Michelin star arrived, Hernández had his employees — whom he refers to throughout the interview as his family — sign a confidentiality agreement. Most agreed, except one. “It went to his head. He thought he was a rock star... God bless him,” he says firmly. Still, Rivera’s departure doesn’t trouble him. As he explains, there’s no secret in how the taco is prepared, and the people who do know the proper cut all signed the agreement.

The downside of success

Arturo Rivera’s decision to leave the taquería wasn’t the only issue El Califa de León faced after being recognized by the Michelin Guide. The influx of customers brought problems with neighboring restaurant owners and the street vendors out front. “They went to the city hall and complained. And since this place runs like a mafia, you either fall in line or you fall in line,” says Hernández. His employees had to implement a new system to manage the waiting line.

The sidewalk along Ribera de San Cosme Avenue is wide — about a meter and a half separates the entrances of the premises from the street vendors. Between them, a corridor forms for foot traffic heading toward Insurgentes or Circuito Interior. Behind the vendors, there’s another meter and a half of sidewalk. Now the queue forms here, next to the bike lane. It then curves, weaving between two vendor stands, and the line breaks. The next person steps up in front of the grill, along with seven or eight others. El Califa de León is a small space. There’s no place to sit.

“We entered into negotiations [with the neighboring shop owners]. At first, it was difficult, but we helped them understand that success is contagious — it spills over, it generates,” says Hernández. One of the neighboring businesses added a few tables so customers could sit and eat, while others started selling hoodies, t-shirts, and caps featuring the taquería and the Michelin man — white, round, and jolly.

On May 16, 2024, when Michelin awarded them the star and a swarm of journalists came to speak with Hernández, he said it felt like a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. “It was a phrase that just came to me in the moment,” he recalls wistfully. “The dream continues. If God gives me the chance, I want to earn another star. I’m also thinking about expanding the business — mainly to the United States. And why not? Madrid, London, Paris. Dreams do come true.”

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